Summoning of Dreams
by Cerulean.Phoenix7
Summary: Even when all else is silent she still manages to find the words.


Summoning of Dreams

A/N: This takes place after the series finale 'Sleeping in Light' at the memorial service for Sheridan.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words.

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><p>She takes no comfort in the void that silence has created, swallowing thickly in the face of the abyss that sound and voice have fallen into. She knows that it will be difficult for many of them to speak at such a time. In the face of sorrow words often flee for the cover of sunlight, where optimism inspires coherency.<p>

She looks to the chestnut shell at the front; a cocoon of status and dreams that millions looked to now encompassed in something so... synthetic. The word carves into her heart, gouging at nerves she did not previously know of.

Authenticity is of greatest importance to her and the lack of it that she associates with that casket pools in a murky blackness in the back of her mind.

She knows that the casket is empty, and she's not the only one. There are a few faces that look to her from the crowd, eyes shrouded in cloudy disbelief and confusion. Understanding eludes them all, tucked away at the edges of infinity and none of them can ever reach that.

Beneath the arched canopies of the building on Minbar Delenn listens to the priest as he speaks of the Minbari traditions, laced with comfort and a slight tinge of sorrow. She remembers the brief time when the man met John, fleeting at best but also memorable.

When his words end and he takes his seat she feels the thickness of the air, ripe with anticipation and pregnant with expectations. She doesn't want to draw out the silence into discomfort; so she stands, and walks to the podium.

There are so many faces: Human, Minbari, Narn, Centauri and so many more. She follows the edges of their shadows to the doors, where sunlight trickles in over the few that stand there. She places her hands, palms flat against the clear glass on the podium. She leans against it slightly, feeling a little too light. She feels as if her body is filling with air, trying to take her away from here but she must stay. He heart beats in her ears; softly, like the fall of rain.

"The humans have a saying," she begins gently. "Life is a journey, but I believe that life is only a part of this journey that we take," she pauses and swallows, her throat is tight.

"And that when we reach that bridge at the end of our lives... it leads to another road that will; in time, lead us back to our beginnings," her eyes were warm, her lungs tight.

"The Minbari have no word for goodbye, we believe that our souls... return," she says as something small and wet rolls down her cheek. "I believe that in whatever form he has taken now, John Sheridan will return to us... and tell us tales of what lies beyond the bridge."

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><p>She takes her time in speaking with people after the service; conversing with them about their great memories of John Sheridan, moments which she remembers fondly... or has tried to cast aside in favour of a shred of sanity. She smiles through them, at the thorns that the memory carves into the air. She ignores them, locks away her vulnerabilities from their little beady eyes. There are a few faces that she's seen a fair amount of in the past few days: Ivanova, Franklin, Garibaldi and the likes. Their words are tender, laced with the bitter tang of sorrow but still sweet with fond remembrance.<p>

She prefers these kind of conversations, to her they are like the fresh scent of spring rain: cleansing, renewing and refreshing. It is a light in a miasma of darkness; a shining star in the blackened voids of the cosmos.

When they have all gone, and the room is empty save for the echoes of memories Delenn sighs heavily. Silence draws its cloak again, enfolding her in its thick shroud as she gasps against the strict confines. It's a momentary crack in her facade, but it's not seen, no one is there is witness the first break.

Then she hears footsteps and swallows her emotion whole, like one of those absurdly large orange fruit that John kept in their quarters. She isn't sure if it's the memory or the notion of the fruit that builds the lump in her throat.

She turns slowly, and there is her son David standing stoically only a few feet from her.

She smiles at him, "Hello David."

He smiles weakly at her. "Hello," he says and walks forward and embraces her.

She welcomes it, after the long periods of time that he is away for his training, she is glad that even for a brief span of time; he is home.

She breaks from him and says: "I'm glad you're here, even with your vigorous training with the Rangers." She pauses for a moment to collect herself, "I believe that as the humans would say, your father would be extremely proud of you."

He nods in response; then his expression becomes pensive and deeply contemplative, lines and creases beginning to carve into his face.

She frowns slightly when she sees this, he is still so young and she had hoped that he would evade such stress for a few more years.

"Mother," he says eventually, "I do not understand how Father can find us again if he has... passed on?"

She reaches a hand to his face, cupping his cheek slightly,

"All paths eventually meet or cross David, whether it be at one point in time or another," she pauses when she sees a slight understanding in his eyes; that familiar glint of comprehension that she's only seen once before. She smiles, if only weakly and moves her hand from his face,

"It is like... the paths of two rivers or the orbits of planets. They will eventually cross. Your father's path may differ from ours, but I think that someday, he will find us again."

"I hope so," David says and she sees the spark in his eyes, bright and jovial like the sun.

"So do I," she says as she places a hand on his shoulder, "Never let go of that hope David."

"I won't," he answers.

She looks from her son out to the doors and beyond. In the distance she sees the horizon, where the sun is just beginning to fall.

"And neither will I."

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><p>She rises the next morning when there is still darkness in the room, not even twilight has begun to stir as she walks to the small balcony, curled away from attention but in prime view of the horizon.<p>

She sits on the bench there, and she knows that even while she sits there it will feel empty. There's a certain lack of something in the air, and that's what pains her the most. The minute details build upon themselves into a menacing tower of symbolism that she cannot take her eyes from.

Her sky has gone dark and her moon is wreathed in silky shadows.

A slice of bright orange dashes across the bench, curling over the seat next to her and she looks to the horizon, where dawn is blinking its eyes open and breathing against the air of a new day.

For an instant she can feel _him_, his presence next to her on that bench and the distinct baritone of his voice as he recounts all their memories; jewels strung up on golden wire. The streak of golden sunlight nestled next to her is her companion, but only a fraction of the company she misses. Her eyes follow the rivers of golden light through the city, over the dips and curves of the buildings to the horizon.

It is both everything and nothing; she knows it is a roiling ball of fire far off in space.

But, she also knows that perhaps, in some strange notion it is closer to John than she is; and that it is such a wondrous sight that she shared with him once makes her reach for it. She wants that moment again, to breathe in that brief time and drink in the scene so that it fills her and encompasses her. She reaches her hand out to the sun, out to the sky; out to John and that moment they shared.

Even in this monumental silence, she still has the sunrise.

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><p>Away on the cusp of infinity, a breath is taken and a sigh released.<p>

Then there is silence once again.

_Fin_

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><p><strong>Please leave a review :D<strong>


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